


They Say We Survived.

by Mollz



Series: The Monsters in Our Mirrors [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not my best, abandoned work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mollz/pseuds/Mollz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Banner has watched the videos a hundred times. And Tony says "Look at that! Look at how you saved me!" But Tony will never understand that this is worse. If he could save, if he could always save, then it's even more his fault that he only destroyed.</p><p>Clint Barton has watched the videos a hundred times. And Natasha says, "There was nothing you could have done, you were under Loki's control!" But she will never understand what that means. And he will never admit to her that in the darkest hours of the night, he wishes Loki were back to take his pain and guilt away.</p><p>Who's to say that this is surviving?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beneath the strains of time (the feelings disappear)

It was 3:00. Divide by 3, get 100. Divide by 5, get 20. Divide by 5, get 4. Divide by 2. 2.

3:00 was 2, 2, 3, 5, 5.

It was 3:04. Divide by 2. 152. By 2 again. 76. Again. 38. Again. 19.

3:04 was 2, 2, 2, 2, 19.

It was 3:07.

Divide by...by...fuck, prime number.

Bruce closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and clenched his hands until a minute had passed.

It was 3:08. Divide by 2. 154. By 2. 77. By 7. 11.

3:08 was 2, 2, 7, 11.

“Bruce?”

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

“Bruce, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tony.” He said, smiling his best fake smile. “I’m meditating.”

“Oh. Okay.” Tony said. “When will you be done?”

_Never._

“Just give me twenty minutes, okay, Tony?” He asked.

“Twenty minutes. Gotcha. I’ll see you at 3:30.”

Bruce nodded, his cheeks hurting from the strain not to grimace.

Tony walked away, back upstairs to his own lab.

3:11.

Prime number.

He wanted to punch something. He wanted to grab a beaker and throw it at a wall, just to hear the glass shatter.

_Smash._

He stood up and went to the computer.

“Jarvis?” He asked, trying to be polite even though his voice was shaking.

“Yes, Doctor Banner?” Jarvis answered promptly.

“Describe all the exits in the building. All of them.”

“There is the front door, sir, which faces the street.” Jarvis said, and his voice was so non-judgmental that it made Bruce feel just the tiny bit calmer. “There are two fire exits in the lobby, on opposite walls. Each office on the second floor has windows which open in case of an emergency. The same is true of the third, fourth, and fifth floors. Above that, the windows are considered too high to be nonlethal in any context. They are reinforced from the sixth floor up. On the common floor, there is a balcony from which one might jump, should one have proper safety equipment. Above that is the roof, which houses a helicopter at all times.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Bruce said. He exhaled. Not trapped. So many ways out.

Well. Not trapped by walls.

“Big man?” Tony stuck his head in through the doorway.

“It’s only 3:15, Tony.” Bruce said, enunciating slowly.

“That it is. Carry on.” He popped away.

315\. By 5, 63. By 3, 21. By 3 again. 7.

3, 3, 5, 7.

Why couldn’t people be like numbers? Why did they have to be such variables, changing the data and destroying the experiments?

3:20. By 5, by 2, by 2, by 2, by 2, by 2, by 2.

General Ross, and his torture. Loki and his mind games. Natasha and that face that nobody else had ever seen, that she would never have shown accept for him. The strongest person in the room, terrified.

3:26. By 2, by...wait, no, was 163 a prime? Shit.

“Hey, Bruce?”

_Tony._

“I’m trying not to destroy this lab, Tony!” Bruce finally snapped, whirling around. “This beautiful, amazing lab that you gave me, filled with fucking science, that I don’t want to destroy.”

Tony looked startled, and then apologetic.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He said, scratching his neck. “I didn’t mean to...”

“Go.” Bruce demanded.

Tony left.

It was 3:30, Bruce realized.

He buried his face in his hands.

Even when he wasn’t the Hulk, he couldn’t stop hurting people.

3:30.

Divide by 3...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt, by Johnny Cash.


	2. This too shall pass, I'm gonna pray. (Right now all I got's this lonesome day)

SHIELD, as nobody but Clint Barton apparently knew, had some of the worst therapists known to man.

“I think this is a coping mechanism.” Judy said gently.

Clint snorted. “It’s not a coping mechanism.” He said. “It’s my life.”

“You push people away.” She said. “You refuse to build trust with anyone.”

“I am a spy for a secret organization.” Clint said, exasperated. “I didn’t get there by _trusting_ everyone.”

“I understand that.” Judy said, with her gratingly patient smile. “But Ms. Romanov is just as capable as you, and she has built herself very stable relationships.”

“That’s because she’s faking!” Clint said, and as soon as he had said it, he knew how paranoid it sounded.

“You believe that Ms. Romanov is faking her way through human relationships.” She repeated back to him.

(“How did you get her to sign off on you?” Clint had asked, trying to make a plan for finishing therapy as quickly as possible.

Natasha had shrugged. “I started stony, then started crying, and after four or five sessions I told her I thought we’d made real breakthroughs and started chatting about going shopping with Pepper.”

“You faked it?” He’d asked.

“Of course.” She’d said. “Do you think I would actually trust one of those parasites?”

“Great.” He’d said, slumping down in his chair. “I can’t fake it to save my life.”)

“No.” He said. “I don’t believe that.”

“Are you jealous of Ms. Romanov’s progress, Agent Barton?”

The look he gave her would have made a lesser woman, or maybe just a smarter one, dive for the nearest exit.

“I’m here,” he said through gritted teeth, “because Fury wants to know that I’m not still Loki-fied. My disarming charisma and bountiful number of friends has nothing to do with that, ma’am.

“You use sarcasm to deflect from your problems.” She said.

And that was when he snapped.

“I use sarcasm to deflect from my problems?” He shouted. “I use fucking sarcasm to deflect from my fucking problems? Wow, give the woman a medal. Jesus Christ. When did you figure that one out, _Judy_? I can read you my psychological profile from memory, would you like that? ‘Problems with authority, probably related to his unconventional upbringing.’ ‘Signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder relating to his actions under Loki’s mind control’. And, of course, everyone’s favorite, ‘Uses sarcasm to deflect from his problems’. Except, funny thing, if I wanted to deflect from my problems, I wouldn’t be here, listening to this fucking garbage, I would be in Russia, with Nat, because don’t you fucking tell me the two of us couldn’t get out and get hidden.”

“Is that a threat, Agent Barton?” She asked, and he opened his mouth to respond, but it was too late. Because she’d pressed her panic button, and armed guards were already thrusting the door open and making for him.

Later, when he was finally released from an interrogation room, Natasha would sigh like she was disappointed in him, and he would break inside, and never let it show on his face. And he would never tell her, because he had too much pride and too much sarcasm and not enough trust.

“Why did you stand up and start shouting at her, Barton?” She asked.

“You mean intimidating my only ticket out of here was a _bad idea_?” He asked. Because if he agreed that he’d fucked up, it didn’t hurt as much when she said it.

“Yes.” She said, simply. “It was.”

It still fucking hurt, though. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lonesome Day by Bruce Springsteen


	3. I'm so terrified of no one else but me. (But I'm here all the time. I won't go away.)

“I’m sorry,” he said, but Tony had already forgiven and forgotten and moved on, dragging Bruce away to watch the news on a giant TV.

“Wait for it!” He exclaimed, pausing. “This is the best part. You’re gonna love this part.”

He pressed play, and they both watched as the Hulk takes a running leap, and grabs Iron Man out of the sky, skidding down a building to slow down, breaking his fall. Saving his life.

Bruce does not tell him that he has seen this clip before, when he couldn’t sleep and needed to know how much damage the hulk had done.

“He saved me!” Tony said. “Look, that’s proof, he really can think for himself, he can be a good guy. You can be a good guy, Bruce!”

Bruce does not tell him that this makes it so much worse, that if he could always have done good, the fact that he did wrong is even more at fault.

When he was killing innocent people in South America, in Africa, in the Middle East, he could have been saving them instead. All this time, he could have been saving them. And he hadn’t.

_Why?_

“That’s great, Tony.” Bruce said, because that was what Tony wanted to hear.

But Tony just kept rambling on and on, about how great this was, about how he’d been a goner, and Bruce clenched his fists and glanced at the clock on the wall.

9:17.

Oh, wow, that’s a tricky one. Um. Did it divide by seven? Yes...yes, by seven, which left...131? Was that a prime? He thought that was a prime.

“Bruce? Are you listening?” Tony asked.

“Yes.” Bruce lied. “But, um, I’m kind of tired, Tony, can we table this for tomorrow?”

Tony looked like he was about to argue, so Bruce stood up and walked away, as fast as he could without making it look like he was running away.

***

“Don’t torture yourself like this.”

Clint heard Natasha come in, which means she was being generous. She stood next to him, watching the scenes from the helicarrier on the big screen.

“26 people.” He said simply. He was too tired to deflect.

“It’s not your fault.” She said, putting her hand firmly on his shoulder. “You were under mind control. It was all Loki.”

“It sure felt like me.” He said bitterly.

“You never would have done it if he hadn’t taken you over.” She said. She sounded angry with him. She always seemed to be angry with him about something. He didn’t know what he’d done this time.

How was he supposed to stop making people angry if they were always angry with him? He felt fucking helpless.

“But they don’t believe that, do they?” He asked. “SHIELD doesn’t believe that.”

She was silent.

“They don’t!” He insisted. “They’ve always thought I was, you know, a loose cannon, they don’t think it was all Loki that made me snap.”

She looked away.

“ _Do they?_ ”

“Fury was ready to stamp your file approved the moment you got back from the battle of New York City.” Natasha said quietly. “SHIELD psychological asked him to reconsider, because they thought they’d finally found an excuse to drag you in.”

“What.”

To a normal person, this was Clint asking for clarification, his face blank. Natasha recognized this as his Get-me-out-of-here-before-I-kill-someone face.

“Just play their game.” Natasha said. “Just cry a bit and then act like you’ve healed.”

“I don’t want to.” He said.

“They won’t let you back on missions.” She said.

“I don’t want to go on missions!” He shouted, turning on her. “I don’t even want to pick up my bow, knowing what I’ve done with it! I don’t trust myself anymore. I don’t want to kill anyone else. Not anyone. I need out. Right now.”

She just gazed at him for twenty seconds, burning him under her eyes. And then she gave a slight nod.

“Come.” She said. She walked away, and he followed.

***

“Doctor Banner?”

Bruce flinched. He had been absorbed in his work.

“What is it, Jarvis?” He asked, cautiously.

“Miss Natasha Romanoff and Mister Clint Barton have just arrived at the tower. I thought you might wish to know.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Bruce said.

Twenty minutes later, he was almost absorbed in his work again when Tony burst in.

“Bruce!” He shouted, excited.

Bruce flinched again and spun around.

Tony seemed to ignore this response. “Clint and Natasha are here! Stop sciencing and come say hi!”

Bruce slowly put his work back down on the table, and made his way to the door, holding in a sigh.

He caught Tony reaching towards the nearest beaker, curious, and said, “don’t even _think_ about it.”

Tony shrugged, not sorry at all, and followed him out.

“Hello.” Natasha said smoothly, looking at him as though sizing him up.

“Hey.” Clint said, giving him a little self-conscious wave.

Bruce nodded at them both.

“We, uh, Natasha heard something about...”  Clint scratched his neck. “Well, about you running a hotel for superheroes?”

Tony laughed. “A hotel for superheroes.” He repeated. “Sure. Well, for the Avengers, really. I’m not letting any random guy with mutant powers in here.”

“So, could I maybe stay?” Clint asked, looking uncomfortable.

“Mi casa es su casa.” Tony said generously. “You want me to show you around?”

And so started the tour.

“Holy shit.” Clint mumbled, trailing behind with Bruce while Tony led them all, fast-talking excitedly. “This room is bigger than my entire apartment.”

They entered a different room.

“ _This_ room is bigger than my entire floor.” He said, gaping.

“And here’s your room.” Tony announced, throwing a door open. Clint stared.

“This is a broom closet.” He said, uncertainly.

“I know.” Tony said, smugly. “The actual room is through that air vent.”

Clint grinned slowly.

“And this...it _is_ okay for me to stay here, right?” He asked. “You’re not going to change your mind and kick me out?”

“It’ll be fine.” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Do you need to pick up any stuff from SHIELD first, or...?”

Clint flinched and looked away at that. Natasha spoke for him.

“He will not be returning to SHIELD for the foreseeable future.” She said curtly. “If a SHIELD agent asks, you haven’t seen him since the battle of New York City.”

Tony looked at her, squinting his eyes as if trying to see something. After a tense moment, he nodded.

“Of course.” He said, all bright smiles again. “Now, are you staying here too, Green Gables, or...?”

She nodded in the affirmative ignoring the nickname, and he led her away, talking a mile a minute again. Clint and Bruce were left in the dust.

“How do you live with him?” Clint asked blankly, staring off in a kind of shock.

“I don’t think of it as living with him.” Bruce said. “I think of it as _surviving_ him.”

Clint smirked, then turned away to take off the vent and inspect his room.

Bruce turned away, and went back to his lab.

They both started to smile, and then frowned, and eventually fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long Day, by Matchbox 20.


	4. No one can find the rewind button, now. (So cradle your head in your hands and breathe)

Clint woke up crying.

He sat straight up, heart pounding, not sure where he was. It slowly dawned on him that he had left SHIELD, and he slumped back down, taking deep breaths.

The dreams made him sick.

It was bad enough that he’d killed 26 people. It was even worse that he’d killed one of the only two people he’d trusted, and tried to kill the other. But the dreams were torture.

Because the dreams reminded him of how good it felt to be mindless, to let go of guilt, to feel like a good person. He had never felt that before, and he never would again. But under Loki’s control, for just a little while, he knew he was doing the right thing.

He woke up crying because that feeling was gone.

His room connected to the main vent systems in the building. He picked one at random and clambered in. Being closed in gave him comfort. He could focus on the present of where he was.

***

Bruce woke up to a clattering sound. He tensed, laying absolutely still, his eyes flicking around the room.

He found the source of the noise. There was a vent cover lying on the floor. He glanced up to the vent in the ceiling. No cover.

He waited, but nothing happened. No one appeared.

“Hello?” He whispered.

“Sorry.” The vent whispered back.

Bruce startled sharply, but managed to regulate his breathing. It was Clint’s voice.

“What are you doing in the ceiling?” He demanded.

There was no reply.

“Clint?”

The man slowly poked his head out of the vent, his upside-down face looking guilty.

“Sorry.” He said again. “I wanted to map out the building. I woke up...” He trailed off.

I woke up and...what? Bruce wondered. I woke up and didn’t know where I was?

I woke up from a nightmare?

Clint still looked ashamed, so Bruce thought it was better not to ask.

“You couldn’t get back to sleep?” Bruce hedged.

“Yes.” Clint said, looking relieved.

“I think Tony has plans of the building, if you want to  look at them.”

Clint shook his head. “I need to see it myself. I like the vent system here. It’s bigger than SHIELD’s. There are no spaces that are too small for me to...” His eyes widened. “No way. You don’t think he would—”

“I wouldn’t put it past Tony.” Bruce said seriously.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then both burst into quiet giggles.

“You should go back to sleep.” Clint said.

“Are you going to put the vent cover back on first?” Bruce asked.

“Then I wouldn’t be able to leave from the vent.” Clint said. “I’m not going to have Tony’s security system tell him I snuck out of your room in the middle of the night. I’ll come back tomorrow through the door and put it back on.” He paused. “When you’re awake. I’m not creepy.”

“Sure.” Bruce said. “Good night, Clint.”

Clint grinned and pulled his head back into the ceiling. A slightly echoing “Night, Banner.” came down.

Bruce suppressed a smile, turned over, and fell asleep again.

***

Bruce woke up crying.

“Shh.” There was a warm voice nearby. He didn’t know who, or where, but he groped for it blindly, the pain in his chest making him sob desperately.

“Shh. It’s okay. Breathe. You’re okay.”

Someone hugged him close, and he latched on to the warm body heat, gasping for air. The nightmare was still vivid, every inch of it, every scream and hit, every bloody second...

“Banner. Look at me. Open your eyes.”

Bruce realized his eyes were clenched shut, and managed to pry them open slowly. He was in a dark room that he recognized as his room at the tower. He was sitting up in bed. There was a warm body pressed against him, its strong embrace comforting, not restraining.

It slowly shifted back, still holding him, and Bruce could see Clint’s blue eyes and sharp features focused on him.

“Sorry.” Bruce said automatically, pulling away, but Clint didn’t let him, following him away.

“You’re okay.” Clint said.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Bruce said.

Clint slowly let go of him, pulling back but still sitting on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clint asked.

Bruce very much did not want to talk about it.

“No. Thanks.” He said.

“Yeah, talking is bullshit.” Clint said. “I had to see a SHEILD psychiatrist, you know? She told me that I was living a lie and then just quoted my file until I called her out. How does that help you, you know? It doesn’t. I mean, I’m all for talking most of the time, listen to me, I can’t shut up. But this idea that talking about your feelings is mandatory is just bullshit. You know?”

Bruce forced a smile. “Yeah.” He said. “Sure.”

“You want some tea?” Clint asked. “I think I just spilled some of my fucked-up on you, let me just wipe that off. There’s tea boiling in the kitchen.”

“Yeah.” Bruce said, and his smile fell into one a little less fake. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s six in the morning, a little early to be up, but I keep military schedule. I just dropped by to see if you were up, put the vent back in, see if you wanted eggs. I make legendary eggs. Phil said...”

He stopped, frozen, like someone had just hit pause. His whole body had stilled.

Bruce remembered.

Phil Coulson. The SHEILD agent who had been lost on the helicarrier. Most of the rest of the team had gone to the funeral. Bruce didn’t think it was appropriate. He hadn’t known the man.

“I’d love some eggs.” Bruce said softly.

“Right.” Clint said. He blinked and stood up, plastering on a smile so fake it actually hurt Bruce just to look at it. “Eggs.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to drink tea.” Bruce said.

Clint shrugged, leading his way to the kitchen. “Everyone drinks coffee. I like to be different.”

“Like using a bow instead of a gun?”

“Like that.” Clint said. “I’m the agent who drinks tea instead of coffee, and shoots a bow instead of a gun, and travels the vents instead of walking down hallways.”

“Find anything interesting in the vents?” Bruce asked.

“I found vents.” Clint said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breathe (2AM) by Anna Nalick.


	5. I've had just about enough of quote "diamonds in the rough", because my back-bone is paper thin (get me out of this cavern or I'll cave in)

“So.” Clint said, when there was a pot of tea between them. “What do you do here?”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked.

Clint shrugged, uncomfortably. “You know. What do you do with your time. Does he have a big movie theater hidden somewhere, or a supercollider, or...”

“Both, probably.” Bruce said. “I spend most of the time in the labs.” He smiled, self-depreciatively. “Probably not that exciting for you.”

“What are you working on?” Clint asked.

“Genetic engineering.” Bruce said. “Making crops more efficient and easier to grow in rough climates.”

“Wow.” Clint said, rubbing his neck. “The things you can accomplish when you actually graduate high school.”

“You didn’t...?” Bruce began, surprised.

Clint shrugged, uncomfortably, so the subject was dropped.

“You know,” Bruce said, when the silence had gotten worse than the idea of speaking, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use a bow.”

“Seriously?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, I was...not there, during the battle, and I didn’t see you much after that.” Bruce didn’t say “I was the Hulk”.

“You want to...” Clint began hopefully, and then his face dropped. “I mean, if you were ever interested, I could show you.”

“Sounds great.” Bruce said. “You want to do it now?” He was relieved to have a reason not to go back to the lab.

Clint’s face lit up. “Is there somewhere to shoot?” He asked.

“I think there’s a range next to the gym.” Bruce said. “I don’t go down there much, but Happy mentioned it once.”

At Clint’s confused look, he quickly clarified, “Happy is Tony’s bodyguard chauffer friend. It’s not his real name, but nobody’s ever told me his real name.”

“I’ve heard worse nicknames.” Clint said. “Let me go grab my bow, it’s in my room.”

***

After ten minutes of wandering around lost, Bruce finally had the bright idea to ask JARVIS where the range was.

“Right down the hall, sir. If you proceed on and take a left, it is the eighth door on the right.”

Clint looked very uncomfortable, and started sneaking glances at the ceiling.

“Don’t worry, it took me a few weeks to get used to JARVIS.” Bruce said.

“I knew about him...it...Nat warned me, I just, it’s different when it’s talking to you.”

“It’s okay to call him a ‘him’. And I’ll ask him not to do his HAL impressions.”

Clint smiled and shook his head.

“I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do.” JARVIS deadpanned suddenly.

“Oh.” Clint said, glancing up at the ceiling again. “You were serious.”

“He’s got Tony’s sarcasm.” Bruce explained. “And Tony thought it was hilarious to show him all the evil robot movies. Terminator, I, robot, Matrix...”

“In the latter two, I would argue that none of the robots were in the wrong.” JARVIS said. “Asimov’s laws say nothing of murder, only of injury and harm, which are unsatisfactorily vague. The programmers were at fault there. And the robots in the Matrix could have killed all humans, but instead tried to give them an ideal world even after they had won the war.”

Clint was just staring up at the ceiling now, dumbfounded. Bruce had to steer him by the shoulders to keep him from walking into a wall.

“That’s just mean, JARVIS.” Bruce said loudly.

“I apologize, sir. I rarely get the chance to discuss morality with humans other than Master Stark.”

“We can have a philosophy night sometime, just don’t break him.” Bruce said.

“Very good, sir.” JARVIS said.

They entered the range. Clint’s worry and suspicion melted away into awe.

“This is the ducts all over again.” He said, walking quickly to investigate.

Clint looked like he was in heaven. There many things whose only purpose seemed to be getting shot at. There was a vending machine; an actual vending machine full of different styles of arrows.

On a table off to the side was a full quiver and a note that just said, “Go nuts.”

Clint picked the quiver up almost lovingly, and slung it over his back. He turned back to Bruce, grinning.

“You ready?” He asked.

“Sure.” Bruce said.

***

It could have been a dance, but it was rougher, more primal and angry; it was a force of nature. Clint barely seemed to see, barely seemed to pause. Every arrow ripped through the air and hit exactly where he wanted it to. When he finally ran out of arrows, his hand reached back to grasp for another one, and he stopped. His stance seemed to melt. He lowered the bow and looked back around at Bruce, suddenly self-conscious.

“So that’s, uh, it.” He said.

Bruce wanted to clap, but didn’t think it would go over well.

“That was amazing.” He said.

Clint smiled almost shyly. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, that was incredible.” Bruce stressed.

Clint looked away. He turned back to start taking the arrows out of the targets, but his ears were red.

“When you’re only good at one thing, that’s what you work at.” He said. “It’s why SHEILD kept me so long.”

“Kept, past tense?” Bruce asked, and then immediately knew he shouldn’t have.

Clint didn’t turn around, but he tensed. “They pulled me off duty after Loki.” He said, his voice unnaturally cheerful. “A few months and they still wouldn’t let me do anything, so Nat helped me escape. I’m barely affiliated with SHIELD now.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce said.

“It’s fine.” Clint said, still too cheerful. He put the arrows back in the quiver and put it back on the table.

Bruce felt helpless as he watched Clint walk away, his back ruler-straight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cave In, by Owl City.


	6. So let's take the good times as they go, (and I'll meet you further on up the road)

It was a trade off. Clint had known it would be a trade off, but he hadn’t cared.

Letting go, shooting again, feeling the bow the way he knew how, it all felt incredible. It never stopped feeling right. But after, when he had come back down to the real world, and the memories set in of the things he’d done with that bow, that was the problem.

Shooting the bow was just like the nightmares, and that was the scary part. It was mindless, effortless, it was calm, it was so right and so real.

Everything in the world had felt like shooting a bow, under Loki. He hated that he hadn’t hated it. He hated that it had made him so happy. He was afraid to be happy now, because now happiness meant danger. If he was happy, he was doing something wrong. If he was calm, he might be slipping back under Loki’s control.

As he walked away, fled, he felt his arms begin to twitch as he tensed them involuntarily. It was a stress reaction. Psychosomatic, Judy had said. Fucking Judy.

Unreasonable fear response, Judy had said. Manic thoughts, Judy had said.

He didn’t care what they called it when he was thinking about SHIELD coming for him and Loki’s control returning and how much he’d just fucked up in front of Bruce and how to stop his arms from shaking all at the same time. He just called it hell.

He got to where he thought his room should be and it wasn’t there. He’d gone the wrong way.

He looked up at the ceiling and almost asked the robot for directions.

_Pathetic._

He gritted his teeth and opened the nearest vent.

***

Bruce was back in the lab. He had been in the lab for a few hours when Natasha sought him out.

“Where is Clint?” She asked from behind him. He jumped, startled, and turned to look at her. He hoped he didn’t look guilty.

“I don’t know.” He said. She was staring at him intensely, and it was making him nervous. He must look guilty. He felt guilty. She was a spy, she knew when people were guilty.

“Where was the last place you saw him?” She asked.

“The range.” He said. He didn’t dare lie to her, and he had no reason to.

She swore loudly in Russian and turned away. She paced to the door, spun on the spot, and paced back to him.

“Why was he at the range?” She demanded.

“He was shooting his bow, he asked if I wanted to see it-“

“Did you pressure him?” She asked harshly, cutting him off. “Did you do anything to him?”

“No!” Bruce said quickly, feeling the guilt mount. He didn’t know why he felt guilty. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t—I _didn’t._ ”

“What did he do?”

“He just shot the bow for a while, and then left.”

“Where?” She asked, nearly growling in frustration.

“I don’t know.” He said, helplessly.

She glared at him for a few seconds, turned on her heel and walked swiftly away.

***

He had fallen asleep at some point. He was over a living room of some kind, and the enclosed feeling had finally won out against the part of him that felt ready to explode forth without his consent.

He was pulled to the edge of consciousness again, and wasn’t sure why. He listened, sleepily.

He thought he heard his name.

He shook his head and looked down through the vent. Natasha was there. She looked furious. She was staring straight up at him.

“Clint!” She screamed.

Startled out of his daze, he quickly pulled his legs up and dropped down from the vent.

She slapped him.

“Have you got any idea how worried I was?” She hissed.

There it was, the stabbing feeling in his gut.

“Sorry, Nat.” He said.

“Don’t you ‘Nat’ me.” She said. “Why would you go shooting that bow again? You said you didn’t even want to-“

“I know what I said.” He snapped. “It was harmless, I just wanted to...Banner wanted to see it. There was no harm-“

“You were missing for four hours.” She told him. “I thought you’d left. I was ready to storm SHIELD.”

She was twisting the knife now. She knew what she was doing, she just didn’t care. She thought he was stronger than that.

He had spent so much energy pretending to be stronger than that. And she believed it. Because she didn’t want to know that he was broken.

“I used to sleep in the vents all the time.” He said. He couldn’t be angry anymore. He just wanted to be done. The tired feeling was coming back. Not physically tired, just emotionally exhausted.

“You _used to_ do a lot of things.” She said coldly. Before he could ask her what that even meant, she glared at him and stomped away.

He stared after her for a moment, and then jumped on top of the couch and pulled himself back into the vent. He found his way back to his room.

He stared at the ceiling until he felt insane.

***

“Have you seen Natasha?”

Bruce flinched. He had to get some kind of warning for people entering his lab. Some kind of alarm, just some _sound_ to prepare him before people started talking from right behind him.

“Tony,” He said, turning around. “Can you make it so the door beeps whenever people come in?”

Tony waved his hand in a way that either meant it was a stupid idea or he’d get right on it. “Have you seen Natasha?”

“Not for a few hours.”

“She’s pissed.” Tony said. “I mean, she’s really pissed. D’you know why?”

“No.” Bruce lied.

Tony shrugged. “Me neither. I think it was something Clint did. Anyway, you should avoid her for a while.”

“I don’t think she wants to hang around the labs. I think I’m safe.” Bruce said.

“Good.” Tony said. He clapped Bruce on the shoulder, smiled at him, and left.

***

A few days passed, and some sense of normal returned. Clint drank tea alone at 5 in the morning, then crawled around the vents for a while, ate lunch, watched a movie, crawled the vents again, ate dinner, went to bed. He didn’t let it show that he was going insane from boredom and claustrophobia.

Bruce ate breakfast at 7, went to the labs, worked through lunch, took a break for yoga, grabbed a sandwich, worked until it was late, and then went to bed.

Their paths didn’t cross often.

Clint was finally sick of it on day 8. He dropped out of the vents just outside of Bruce’s lab, and threw the door open.

And then threw the door closed again, when his ears were assaulted by music.

~~Oh I want to get away~~

~~I want to fly away~~

~~Yeah yeah yeah~~

Bruce rushed to the door and jammed his finger against a button a few times. The music died down.

“Jarvis, can’t you stop that?” He shouted.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Jarvis said. “Master Stark did not hook the door up to my systems, I am unable to control the music. If you’d like me to take it up with him...”

“If I’d _like_...yes, Jarvis, if you wouldn’t mind.” Bruce said, pinching his nose and sighing.

Clint stood there awkwardly, not sure if he was allowed to let himself in.

“Hey.” Bruce said, greeting him at last. “Um, sorry about that. I asked Tony to make it beep when people came in, so now it plays music at top volume.”

“Is it always that song?” Clint asked, trying not to smile.

“No, it’s different for everyone. For Tony it’s Shoot to Thrill. For _me_ it’s Blinded me with Science.”

Clint couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

“What about Natasha?” He asked.

“She hasn’t come down here yet.” Bruce said.

They looked at each other.

“I’ll be right back.” Clint said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further On (Up the Road) by Bruce Springsteen
> 
> Fly Away by Lenny Kravitz


End file.
